


Public

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Fight Scene, Hawke is a control freak, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Public Play, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Spitroasting, Subspace, choosing clothing, lyrium sex toy, non-sexual rules, not the triad fighting, that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 20:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: The last dregs of Hawke’s crisis of conscience followed by semi-public fun. Basically, a few bits and bobs of plot and smut that all fit together nicely.





	Public

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:  
http://cyansfw.tumblr.com/post/131846651572  
Which is of course gone now that Tumblr is terrible. Trust me it was amazing art.

“Hawke,” Fenris says. “Is something wrong?”

They’re in the parlor reading the best lines of their books aloud and waiting for Anders to get done at the clinic. Hawke is acting perfectly normal, and it’s setting Fenris’ teeth on edge.

“Nothing that I know of.”

“We don’t play like we used to.”

“We play.”

“We play, but that’s not my question. We don’t play the same way. You’ve been arranging for me to Dom Anders, or we’ve fucked, but you haven’t… I haven’t been…” _Kaffas, this is harder than I thought it would be. _Fenris says, “I haven’t been yours.”

“You’re always mine. I’m always yours.”

“Yes, but not what I meant. I want…” Fenris falls silent, searching Hawke’s face. It’s perfectly pleasant, then a stupid stroke of realization hits Hawke, and Hawke grimaces.

“Sorry. I’m being an ass. I should know better. You want me to Dom you.”

Fenris nods. “Am I imagining it, or are you avoiding… not me, but having me at your mercy?”

“I… no? Not on purpose.” Hawke runs his hands over his hair. “Maybe it hurts? No. It _scares_ me that you could… This is so long ago now, it seems silly.”

“It’s obviously not silly, if it’s bothering you.”

Hawke smirks at him. “Where would you get such an idea?”

Fenris smirks right back. “From you. It started around the time of our bedroom competition.”

Hawke nods, staring at the table. “I…” he glances up at Fenris. “Yes. Fenris, I’m afraid of… it was fucking tempting to show you the hard way why saying you had no limits was a bad idea. Just… for a moment. I guess it scared me more than I thought.”

“Let’s talk it through, Hawke. Things get better when we talk about them.”

“You’re right.” Hawke rubs his forehead. “Sorry. I talked with that Domme in Orlais. She agrees with me that ‘no limits' is never a good idea. Some. Some people find the idea of it hot, though. We could negotiate the phrase to mean ‘now the limits are here, instead of there’.”

“No,” Fenris says. “Hawke, I’m sorry. I was angry. I believed I had something to prove. The part that bothers me about the whole situation is it was a misunderstanding, and I still got angry enough to do stupid things.”

“I’ve… been thinking about what it could mean, about what I could pretend I had permission to do if you said it again.”

Fenris smiles. “Any favorites?”

Hawke laughs, high and tense. “Nothing I can face about myself just yet.”

“And what? Thinking it makes you a bad person? It’s your actions that matter.”

“Thoughts lead to action. If I’m tempted again.”

_If you tempt me again, _Hawke doesn’t say, but Fenris can practically hear it anyway.

“Hawke.”

“Fenris.” Hawke meets his gaze with the ironic earnestness Fenris loves nearly too much for his own good. Nearly.

“I’m not going to say ‘no limits’ again. Can you trust that?”

Hawke searches Fenris’ face and nods. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who broke your trust.”

“It shouldn’t have been so fragile, Fenris.”

Fenris pauses and realizes it’s true. _Damn, that hurts._ But maybe the healed fracture will be stronger. He takes a breath.

“So, will you tell me why you liked it too much when I said ‘pleasing you makes it good’?”

Hawke swallows. “Fenris, it’s not pretty.”

“It appealed to your arrogance?”

Hawke blinks. “How did you know?”

Fenris laughs. “I didn’t. Arrogance is your most obvious flaw. I was planning on going down the list from there.”

Hawke chokes out a laugh. “You have—you have a list?”

“Starting with arrogance, yes,” Fenris says. “You’re also being arrogant about how badly you can hurt me. I’ve learned a lot of resiliency. You won’t accidentally do something to damage me irreparably. I have other friends.”

Hawke shakes his head. “You have a whole list.”

“Does that deflate your arrogance? Not all of it, I hope. It’s kind of hot.”

Hawke snorts. “Confidence is hot. Arrogance is… Oh, shit. I’ve been putting this all on myself. I’ve been trying to control myself, so that I could be sure you’d be okay…”

Fenris sighs. “That’s almost sweet.”

Hawke laughs a quick, high laugh. “Almost! But it’s actually…” he puts his head in his hands… “Big-headed. Condesending.”

“Conceited,” Fenris says helpfully.

“Thanks for that.” 

“You can’t do that, Hawke. It’s dangerous.”

“You realize any danger of hurting you triggers my controlling impulse.”

“Not for me. For our relationship.” Fenris sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees and trying to get Hawke to look him in the eye. He seems fascinated by the floor tiles now. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our relationship gets stronger every time we talk about things. This… this was weird, I was second-guessing whether anything was even happening.”

Hawke finally looks up at that. “I’m sorry. I thought it wouldn’t affect us if I didn’t let it.”

Fenris shrugs. “It did.”

Hawke stands, but he’s too big to climb into Fenris’ lap, so he gets down on the floor next to Fenris’ chair. “How’s this for less arrogant?”

“Proud of yourself, are you?” Fenris teases.

“No! Jerk. I just… need to get it through my thick skull that I can always come to you, even when I’m afraid of the outcome.”

Fenris kisses Hawke and pulls his head onto his lap. Hawke hums, relaxed for a little while, but then says, “How does Anders do this for so long?” and clambers up.

“My best guess?” Fenris tilts his head at his man. “Anders was a devout Southern Andrastain for a good part of his life.”

“Southern?”

“They don’t kneel as much in Tevinter Chantries.”

“Yeah. For some reason, that strikes me as extremely believable,” Hawke says, rubbing his knees.

Fenris grins. “So when Anders comes over, are you going to share the devious plan you’ve been brewing?”

“How did you--?” Hawke grins. “I swear, you’re ridiculous sometimes.”

“I just know you well.”

“I’m so worried that I don’t know you. I mean, I do, but I worry that I’ll misread you, or believe I know better than you…”

“Hawke. I handed you an open tab, and you handed it back.”

“Where is the line, Fenris?” Hawke says. “I did the right thing, but what if you ask for something _specific_ I’m not sure of and I don’t double-check? What if I had used rope on _you_ that night, and--?”

“Okay, I _said_ you could use rope. If you’d used it, I would have safeworded.”

Hawke shakes his head, slumps into his chair.

“No, Hawke, I _would_ have safeworded. I nearly did, but knowing I could and knowing—Hawke! _Knowing_ you would have stopped gave me enough control to keep me okay.”

Hawke’s still wringing his hands. “But, Fenris”—

“Hawke, if I had safeworded, would you have stopped?”

“Without hesitation,” he says.

“That’s exactly why it was okay. Anders was right, safewords are what make this work.” Fenris blinks. “I figured something out and didn’t think to tell you before now. Hawke, I can’t negotiate when I’m angry. _That_ was the root of my problem that night.”

“Huh, okay. I figured something out, too. It’s different with Anders. With you I… I need to know that you still have your will. I need… that tug, that bratty rebellion from you so I know I’m not…”

“You could never be him,” Fenris says.

“Couldn’t I?”

“The fact that you consider it a bad thing answers your question.”

“And if I stop asking?”

“That depends. If you stop asking, are you going to start abusing me?”

“No! Maybe. What if I do?”

“Then I will leave you.”

“Fenris, swear it.”

“Hawke, I will talk to you if I think we’re worth saving, but I will leave you if you abuse me or Anders.”

They blink at each other.

“Or Anders?” A smile spreads over Hawke’s face.

“Or anyone,” Fenris says. “Orana. Sandal! Bodhan!!”

Hawke stands. “Wait till I tell him!”

“Don’t you dare!” Fenris leaps up.

Hawke makes for the door, but Fenris cuts him off, standing in the way. Hawke backtracks, looping around the chairs, and Fenris follows. He realizes Hawke is getting the table between Fenris and the door in time to run back and catch Hawke around the waist.

Anders walks in. “What is going on here?”

###

“Nothing!” Hawke says, grinning like the cat that swallowed a canary.

“Nothing,” Fenris says, still holding Hawke but softening, as if realizing how childish they’ve been. Hawke doesn’t care: it was fun.

Anders eyes their silent struggle. “Are you sure?”

Fenris lets go of Hawke suddenly, letting him stumble. “Hawke has _mis_understood something I’ve said. He is _taking it out of context_ and making more of it than is true.”

“Am I really? Care to explain?”

Fenris glares at him. “Not right now, I don’t.”

Anders looks annoyed, but Hawke goes over to kiss him. “Just a bit of fun, love.” Anders relaxes into the next kiss: skin and stubble, lips and tongue. “What are you up to tonight?”

“I was wondering if you… two… were up for a different kind of fun.” Anders is taking off his armored layers as if they’re on fire, putting them neatly on the armor stand. “If not, I was going to write some letters.”

“Well, if it keeps you from writing letters.” Fenris smiles and returns to his seat. “I’m game. Hawke?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

The worry that’s been hounding Hawke for weeks has cleared. “I’m ready to play.” He glances at the windows. The sun is just setting, sending red streaks across the sky. Might even rain tomorrow, clear out some of the dust.

When he glances back, Anders is half-out of his armor. Hawke returns to his seat facing the fire. When Anders finishes, he sits in his usual seat to Hawke’s right, across the table from Fenris, who prefers to face the door.

“I have an idea, something we haven’t done before,” Hawke says. “I would like to put rules in place, and then go out together. The Hanged Man should work well. Does this sound like fun?”

“Might be. Wouldn’t the Blooming Rose be a better venue?” asks Anders.

“I’d be open to that,” Hawke says, “but I thought we’d enjoy playing among friends, and most of those heathens are at the Hanged Man tonight.”

“What kind of rules?” Fenris asks. “I guess… I can take humiliation with you two, but not publicly.” Anders nods.

“I’d rather no one notice we’re playing,” Hawke says.

Both of his men relax. “All right, then,” says Anders as Fenris says, “Yes, fine.”

“‘Fine’ and ‘all right’ do not sound like fun, they sound like agreeing to a chore.”

They give identical eye rolls. Clearly been spending too much time together. Hawke grins.

Fenris says, “I won’t guarantee I’ll have fun, Hawke, but it has potential.”

“I like the challenge, count me in,” Anders says.

“That I’ll accept. Okay, while we’re on the subject… Anders, tell us your ‘no’ list for tonight, aside from _public_ humiliation.”

“No blood, no verbal humiliation, no marks where they can be seen in public. No sex in… huh. Make that no public displays of lewdness.” Anders chews his lower lip, but Hawke knows he’ll need to give Anders time to think that over, whatever it is.

“Fenris?”

“I’ve pushed myself enough recently. I want a break. No binding anyone, no consent play. I might be okay with magic, but…”

“What if I’m wearing your, um, your plug?” Anders says.

“I…” Fenris’ mouth opens, then closes, then he asks, “What does it do when you cast Grease?” Hawke grins knowingly.

“Oh, um, it, ah… vibrates.” Anders squirms.

“Kaffas,” Fenris breaths. “It’s worth magic for that.”

“That reminds me,” Hawke says. “I need your side of the story, Fenris.”

“I thought you’d already gotten it from Anders.”

“I did, would you like me to fill in some detail for you?”

“Oh! Uh, if that’s okay with Anders.”

“You’d get off on that?” Anders says.

“Depends on the detail,” Fenris says, shrugging.

“I’ll give you the best ones,” Hawke assures him, glancing at Anders, who shrugs and nods.

“Sure,” Fenris says, trying to sound non-chalant. Hawke sees right through it.

Hawke grins. “We’ll talk later. Anything you two want to try tonight?”

“Can we… can we have sex outside, too? Some, I don’t know, unused alley or abandoned garden.” Anders puts up his hands in response to Hawke’s surprise and Fenris’ raised eyebrows. “I don’t want to get caught. I miss the _risk_ of getting caught.”

“There’s a garden behind my mansion we could use,” Fenris says thoughtfully. “Hawke, do you have ideas for standing positions?”

“So many,” Hawke replies.

“Can it be a surprise for me?” Anders asks.

“Demanding,” Hawke says, smiling.

“If you want to ruin the surprise…” Anders teases back.

“It’s fine,” Hawke says, waving. “You can be a spoiled pet this time.”

Anders sticks his tongue out at him.

“Or a bratty one,” Hawke amends. “Fenris, how can I spoil you?”

“I get to put my toy in your pet. I’m well spoiled.”

“Fuck, I really have to deal with that thing at the Hanged Man?” Anders complains, smiling.

“No, you really don’t,” Fenris says.

“Ah, sorry, no consent play, you said. Fenris, I really fucking want to wear that delightful toy to the Hanged Man. It will be an extra challenge.”

“That’s a good point. Fenris, would you like one of my toys?” Hawke says, smiling.

“Hmm, turn about’s fair play,” Anders says.

“I… no. I would rather not,” Fenris says.

Anders makes a mou of disappointment, but Hawke nods and says, “Okay.”

Anders shrugs. “As long as I don’t have to give up yours,” he says.

Fenris smiles. “Oh, I’ll give you mine,” he says.

Anders rolls his eyes. “Yes, right, moving on?”

“Now is a good time for safewords. Nonverbal, too. Then I’ll give you clothes and the rules.”

Fenris shrugs. “Jester,” he says, tapping his leg three times.

“Wiggams,” Anders says, smirking and echoing the pattern.

“Ketojan,” Hawke says, also tapping three times. Then he stands, beckoning, and wraps an arm around each of them to take them upstairs.

Hawke may have been thinking about this for a while. He pulls clothes that will fit Fenris and Anders and displays them on the bed. There’s a lightweight but beautiful set of crimson robes for Anders with no armor value to speak of. Fenris is picky about the fabrics he’ll put up with, but Hawke has found a long, crimson vest that fits him well. Hawke reviews the cutthroat-free routes to the Hanged Man in his head as he lays them out.

“Don’t forget the plug. When you’re done, Kneel at the foot of the bed. You remember Kneel?” Hawke sets his outdoor boots at the foot of the bed. 

“I believe it involves being on our knees,” Fenris says.

Anders rolls his eyes and heads for the robes. Fenris takes his plug out of one of several pouches on his belt.

“Wait, you just happen to be carrying that with you?” Anders asks.

Fenris smirks. “Only on days Hawke’s likely to fuck with us.”

Anders blinks, perhaps wondering (as Hawke definitely is) how often Fenris might be willing to plug Anders, if Anders were to ask _very_ nicely.

“You’re going to need to be at least half-naked,” Fenris points out. Anders huffs and yanks his robes up. Hawke’s so distracted by that, he almost misses the avid interest on Fenris’ face. Interestingly, it’s not the naked lust Fenris had the first night the three of them got together. He seems to be enjoying needling Anders, making him huffy and exasperated. The excellent mage ass seems to be a bonus anymore, rather than the point.

When Anders yanks his leggings down, Fenris scrapes his nails up the back of his exposed thigh and ass, eliciting a hiss from Anders. Fenris chuckles, lubes the plug, and patiently works the plug into Anders’ ass.

Anders, on the other hand, is anything but patient. “Come on, you can go faster than that. Maker, you don’t really have to”—here he cuts off, making a noise like he’s swallowing his own tongue.

“You were saying?” Fenris teases.

“You’re insufferable,” Anders says, and Hawke can hear in his voice that he’s sweating and trying to hide it under annoyance. They separate to continue dressing, Anders more careful of his movement than Fenris. Hawke changes to leather armor with his crimson crest embroidered on the back.

When Hawke’s men are dressed and kneeling, he says, “At the Hanged Man, you will follow some simple rules.” Hawke rests his left boot gently on Anders’ back as he pulls and laces it up. He can feel Anders sliding into subspace from the pressure. “You will always be within my reach. I will order your drinks, and you will allow me to touch you.” Done with the left, he uses Fenris’ back to put on his right boot, still careful. No reaction, but Hawke didn’t expect one yet from Fenris. “Tell me if anyone else touches you, or anything that may affect our safety. Otherwise, you will not speak unless spoken to. I may answer for you, or you may reply if I give you a squeeze or tap.” Hawke stands. “You will follow my commands. The Hanged Man can be unpredictable. If I have to fight, you will stay out of the main fight. I would rather you don’t fight at all, but that’s more of a guideline. I’ll bring elfroot, Anders, so you can have a night off, too. I will give you one squeeze or tap to be alert and two squeezes to pause our game. When I snap my fingers, these rules will be in place again.” Hawke stands, walks a few paces ahead of where his gorgeous men are resting. “Let’s practice that last rule.” He snaps his fingers.

Fenris and Anders join him, one to each side.

###

Isabela is facing the door and sees them enter.

“Hawke!!!” choruses the Hanged Man. Hawke laughs, each arm around a boyfriend. The bar patrons have made a game of watching for him the last six months or so, and Hawke’s always amused by it.

Isabela stands and waves. Varric was part of the chorus, and he lowers his mug enough to take a deep drink. Merrill and Aveline turn to wave, Aveline with her mug.

Something is off about the adorable triad, but Isabela can’t put her finger on what. Fenris nods his hello, and Anders lifts a hand.

“Ooo, I thought he wasn’t going to make it!” Merrill says.

“That is what he said, Kitten,” Isabela agrees. They’re dressed oddly: Fenris’ arms are showing, Anders isn’t wearing a single feather, and Hawke’s armor is lighter than his fancy commissioned set. There’s a lot of red, but that’s still not quite it. “They look good tonight, don’t they?” Isabela returns to her seat as they angle over.

“Getting drinks first,” Hawke says in passing. The bar is close enough she can hear him order. _Lucky dog, _she thinks. _What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in his chambers. _She knows better than to hope for more. When she’d suggested sex years ago, Hawke laughed and said he’s ‘as gay as the day is long.’ His words.

She savors the sight of them together. They probably won’t stay clustered long. Hawke will be based at their table, of course, attracting the occasional admirer or challenger, filling the Hanged Man with his laughter, unabashedly Ferelden. He will wander to one of his boyfriends from time to time to grab his ass and chime in on his conversation, but they have their own amusements. There are a few mages in the corner Anders will probably talk with urgently, never loud enough to be heard, and that Maraas guy is here tonight. He and Fenris talk for hours about things like ‘will’ and ‘choice.’ The drunker they get, the deeper their shit will pile, and the more they’ll believe they’re uncovering truths of the universe.

“Hawke, glad you could join us,” Aveline calls as the triad approaches with their drinks.

“Let’s get chairs…” Varric starts up, scanning for unoccupied chairs. _This is where the boyfriends beg off and head to their corners._

“Actually, could we move to another table? We’d like to sit all three together tonight, if nobody minds,” Hawke says.

Isabela’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah. Sure, we could do that,” she blurts, but then looks around the room. “Only…” _every table in the place has somebody at it._ Most are full. Isabela considers driving Charlie off his huge table by the door. No one ever joins him, and he never seems to leave it, but there’s a rumor the table is under a curse. _Might be worth it. _Isabela’s been disappointed at the lack of clinginess among the triad. Puts a damper on her friend fiction.

“Don’t worry about it,” Varric laughs, “I have a table we’ll fit at.”

Speaking of clingy, both Anders and Fenris are practically glued to Hawke. Isabela catches Hawke grabbing Fenris’ ass as they’re headed up the stairs. Normally, Fenris would bat him away, but this time his hand jerks to do that… then settles on top of Hawke’s. Those two have been dating for months, and Isabela’s never seen him simply _accept_ Hawke’s public displays of affection, lewd or not. _Interesting._

As everyone settles around Varric’s generous table, Varric quietly asks, “What ya thinking, Rivaini?” He’s at the head seat facing the door, Isabela at his left hand, Fenris at his right. “That’s a friend-ship face if ever I saw one.”

“Don’t know yet. Keep an eye out, we’ll compare notes later.”

“Fair enough.”

“Fenris, what are you drinking?” Isabela asks.

There’s a slight pause before he answers. “Just this tavern’s stale swill. Hawke thought I should broaden my palette.” Fenris allows his disgust to shine through.

The conversation isn’t flowing right. There’s a rock under the surface. There: Anders is biting back a snarky retort as Hawke changes the subject.

“So, Aveline, how are things in the guard lately?”

“Good sting operation this week. Fenris, thank you for the tip.”

This time there’s a movement in of the corner of Isabela’s eye, but there’s no hesitation.

“You caught them, then?” Fenris asks. Hawke is engrossed with making Anders squirm by rubbing his thigh in his delightfully brash way, but he also has a hand on Fenris’ leg under the table.

“Yes, a whole nest of slavers working out of the Undercity.”

“I imagine you imprisoned them?” Fenris growls.

“Sadly, they never made it to prison,” Aveline says, not sad at all. This time, Isabela catches it. A tiny flex in Hawke’s left arm before Aveline finishes talking.

“You always know how to make me smile, Aveline.” And he is. But so is Anders. _What the hell is he doing with his thigh? Can’t be that good, Anders never smiles. _

Then it hits her. Anders biting back his words, Hawke’s hands on both of them, the jumping arm muscle just now before Fenris spoke. And for that matter, neither boyfriend wearing armor. Hawke has his usual knives, but the BFS (big fucking sword) and Anders’ staff are nowhere to be seen. They are vulnerable but protected by Hawke. _Things must be as interesting at the Hawke estate as I hoped._ Isabela considers rooftop comfort and lines of sight.

To test her theory, she turns to Anders, grasping for any subject that won’t end up in a rant about templars. “So, Anders, what’s it like to be a third wheel?”

“Fuck off, Isabela,” Hawke responds, smiling. “It’s not like that.” _Smooth, Hawke._ But Isabela won’t be dissuaded so easily.

“Whatever, asshole.” She flips him off with a smile of her own. “So, Anders, what is it like if you’re not a third wheel?” _Gotcha._ Isabela catches the twitch in Hawke’s right arm as he squeezes Anders’ leg. She barely listens to Anders; she’s writing in her head. _It’s like being in Hawke’s tender, loving care… but also under his thumb. _

“Hawke is very… generous. Ah, with his time.” Anders’ answer recaptures Isabela’s interest with what he didn’t say.

“What about Fenris?” she prods.

Fenris himself leans far enough across the table Isabela can’t see his face anymore, only the top of his head resting on his hand, white hair caught between his fingers. He’s looking directly at Anders, but his expression can’t be read by anyone but Hawke and Anders at that angle. _Typical._

Hawke is trying not to laugh, and Anders’ eyes keep jumping to Fenris as he says: “Fenris and I aren’t… We don’t… It’s complicated.”

Fenris leans back in his chair again, smirking.

“Ooo,” Isabela says, “now I want to know more.”

“Do you ever stop prying, Isabela?” Hawke says lightly.

“You know me, Hawke,” she says with a wink. “I want all the tickley details, but broad strokes will do just fine.”

“Well, you’re not getting one tittle tonight.”

“Tittle, Hawke? I haven’t heard _tittle_ since I was at the Pearl.”

“That’s me! Ferelden dog, through and through.”

Isabela smirks. “Wait, you’ve been to the Pearl?”

“Nah. The Pearl isn’t a great place to hide an apostate mage,” Hawke skips a beat, “and his family. We traveled for a while, then spent most of my childhood in Lothering. I think one of the lay sisters there covered for us or something.”

“So, Hawke,” starts Varric, “tell us”—

A half-dozen well-armed Carta pile into the room.

“Varric, I wanted to come up here so we _wouldn’t_ get into a fight,” Hawke complains, both arms twitching.

“Gentlemen! I don’t believe we have an appointment,” Varric says. _That’s not good._

“We’re here for the Hawke!” one of the dwarves shouts as they all pull out weapons.

That’s all she needs to hear. Isabela draws her daggers and hops on the table so Merrill can retreat to the corner, which gives Aveline space for her sword. She runs down Varric’s long table to leap onto the toughest-looking one, stabbing with both blades. One blade finds a chink in the dwarf’s armor and cuts her deep. Isabela dodges her blow and slips behind her to get good purchase with both blades this time.

“Hit me! I’m right here!” she shouts.

A bolt from Varric’s crossbow cuts through three opponents, finishing off the one Isabela had been softening up. A dwarven blade she hadn’t noticed slices along Isabela’s side, which _really hurts _but that one falls under Aveline’s sword.

“Yhah!” Aveline taunts. “Face me; I stand for all of us!” Aveline glitters and puffs up to get the attention of the four remaining carta. _Make that three_, Isabela thinks as one falls under Hawke’s knives.

A burst of vines erupts behind Isabela, peeling back to reveal Merrill. _Damn weird. Whatever, it’s useful._ Vines reach around Isabela and lash around their enemies’ legs and boots. The vines drag dwarves toward Merrill, jittering along the floor. Isabela leaps on the nearest one, stabbing while he’s down and watching a gleeful light flicker out of his eyes. Merrill whacks one out with her staff, and a bolt from Varric cuts through the throat of the last.

“Another one for me!” Varric crows. “How many have you got, Hawke?”

“Just the one,” Hawke says, checking for survivors. Varric chuckles, self-satisfied.

Anders asks, “Anybody need healing?”

“Over here,” Isabela says with one hand over the seeping gash in her side.

“I’ve got elfroot. I promised you a night off,” Hawke says. _Theory confirmed._

“Was it just me, or were they eager to die?” Isabela asks, downing the potion with a grin. Looting distracts her from the burning tingle as the elfroot heals her. She hands Hawke the gold coins, palming most of the silver into her long boots. She leaves the copper for the body men.

“Got to be, to attack us,” Varric says, shrugging as he puts Bianca away with a loving pat. _I will never understand him and that crossbow._

Hawke checks the blood spattered over his light armor. “Can we clean up, Varric? I was hoping for a nice evening _not_ covered in blood.”

Varric grins. “My palatial suite at the Hanged Man is your palatial suite at the Hanged Man. Bathing water is next to the fire; just shove it closer to heat it up. I’ll get washcloths for everyone from the staff.” He heads down as Hawke and Merrill shove Varric’s giant pot into the maw of the fireplace. Isabela uses her fingernails to scrape the worst of the blood off her white shirt, finds some soap, and grabs handfuls of water while it’s cold to get the last specks of blood. Varric returns with a round of drinks and the cloths and distributes both. Staff arrive to drag the bodies down the back stairs.

“It always bothers me how matter-of-fact they are about covering up murder,” Aveline says.

“This wasn’t murder, it was self-defense.”

“It always is with you, Hawke,” the big girl says wryly.

They clean up, Varric at the table trying to get Fenris and Anders to talk. The boyfriends hadn’t participated at all, and Varric had been far enough away to avoid getting blood on his coat. Isabela removes her boots, scrubbing at them as an excuse and tucking the silver into her belt pouch.

As they return to the table, not exactly refreshed but no longer covered in blood, either, Varric says, “What was that, Hawke? You go and attack a carta cell without me?”

Hawke snaps his fingers as he sits and says, “I knew I forgot to tell you something.”

Isabela doesn’t miss the slight smirk from both boyfriends as they return to their chairs.

“But seriously,” Hawke continues, putting his hands on them again, “I’m as in the dark as you are. Unless you’ve heard something?”

“Not a word, Hawke. I’ll keep an ear out, though. I don’t like that they attacked you here.”

“Thanks, Varric.”

“Well, whatever their angle is, they won’t be trying again tonight. This round’s on me. Least I can do, hosting such a disaster.” Varric waves down the token objections and makes sure everyone has a fresh drink in hand.

Isabela sets her boots against the wall behind her chair, which she regrets when Varric starts a game of Wicked Grace.

Hawke doesn’t play cards of his own. Instead, he’s peering nosily at the hands of Fenris and Anders, muttering advice to each. Neither has money with them, so their wagers are from Hawke as well. Fine with her: twice as many chances to catch him cheating.

Isabela gets bored of the cards quickly and decides to tug the tail of the lion. Or the hawk. She snakes a bare foot over to Fenris, caressing up his bare foot to his ankle.

Fenris pulls his foot back and mutters something to Hawke. She hears her name. Hawke turns to her, and she winks before he turns back at Fenris. He asks something, and Fenris flushes under his golden-brown skin. He nods, and Hawke responds with a short muttered command.

Fenris’ foot bumps into Isabela’s under the table, but nothing more.

It’s enough. Isabela presses the balls and toes of one foot against Fenris’ arch, and then slides her other foot up to the ankle again.

“Fenris,” Varric says, “your turn.”

“Right,” he says after Hawke’s squeeze, focusing on his cards. Isabela slides her foot against his arch, and he fumbles the card he was palming.

“Hey,” Merrill says, “that’s cheating!”

“My mistake,” Fenris replies, glaring for a second at Isabela. He draws his card.

“So, Aveline,” Varric prompts as he plays. “Got any good tales from the barracks tonight?”

“Not really. Well, there is one…”

“Go on.”

Isabela pulls her feet back to play her cards and tunes Aveline out completely. She’s already playing without boots, no point in playing distracted, too. She tucks a card under her wide belt before reaching with her feet again. Fenris sighs.

“Long day at Brooding mansion?” Varric asks in an aside as Aveline continues her story about thieves and her city guard.

“Mmm,” he responds. Then after that muscle pops in Hawke’s arm, “Just a little distracted tonight.”

Isabela can’t help it. She giggles.

Varric looks at her, back at Fenris, and then at Hawke, who’s peering at Anders’ cards and whispering something in his ear that’s making him blush. Merrill’s watching them with earnest curiosity.

“All right,” he mutters, “but if this devolves into an orgy, I’m charging admission.”

Fenris sighs again. Anders shoots Varric a slightly panicked look, which gets Isabela’s hopes up, but he calms as Hawke continues muttering in his ear reassuringly.

_No orgy, then. Pity._

Isabela checks Merrill. She’s blithely continuing in her honest playing, losing coin like water through a sieve. At least she’s only betting copper these days. Isabela remembers when Merrill noticed Anders’ magical anal plug and wonders what she’s picked up on tonight.

_And what does the big girl think? _But Aveline is as inscrutable as a dreadnaught. She seems aware of everything, but who knows what she makes of it?

###

Fenris is relaxed, comfortable… oddly, more so _after_ the Carta attack. Hawke and their friends have them covered; he’s safer here than most places. Tonight, Hawke is a careful blend of control and anticipation. Fenris stops thinking about his cards, taking all of Hawke’s direction instead. Isabela’s teasing becomes another sensation in this warm, comfortable room. She gives up, and he doesn’t notice.

###

Broody and Blondie fold and withdraw, but the game continues, spiced with stories. The Boyfriends’ armless chairs are pushed together, and Hawke is leaning back, each shoulder with a head resting on it, each hand stroking hair. They’re slow-moving, eyelids drooping. Only Hawke could make it seem like the most natural thing in the world.

“They’re just tired,” he says.

“That’s so sweet,” Daisy says.

They’re definitely out-of-it, but they’re not tired. Varric just can’t place it.

###

“Fen, I need you aware and awake to help me with Anders,” Hawke says. “I need you to focus on my voice. Can you do that for me?”

Fenris nods. He likes Hawke’s voice.

“Look around us. Tell me one thing you see,” he says. There’s a glossy slab of wood there.

“The table,” Fenris responds.

“What’s its texture?”

Fenris runs a hand along it. He feels himself coming back into the room, aware of not just the table, but the walls and their friends, passed out or missing from the table around them. Aveline left. Isabela passed out. Merrill is watching her sleep. Varric is over in his room. He vaguely thinks he may have left recently. “It’s smooth, Hawke.”

“Good,” Hawke says. “Can you smell anything in particular?”

“That Ferelden swill you made me order,” Fenris says.

“A sense of humor, that’s a good sign,” Hawke says. “What does this taste like?”

Fenris turns to see what Hawke’s going to feed him, but instead Hawke kisses him.

Fenris smiles. “Like you’ve been drinking the Ferelden swill, but you _smell_ like leather and your soap.”

Hawke looks him in the eye, smiles. “Welcome back,” he says. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Did you happen to bring water? I don’t trust Lowtown wells.”

Hawke smiles and slips him a waterskin. The water is still cool and fresh.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Hawke suggests.

Fenris smiles. “You’re keeping Anders fuzzy?”

“Good way to put it.” Hawke nods and turns to Anders. “Can you stand for us, sweetheart?”

Fenris had thought Anders may have fallen asleep, but now he mumbles and blearily stands. Fenris moves to support one side, and Hawke takes the other.

“We should fuck in the garden now,” Anders says as they squeeze down the stairs.

Fenris chuckles. “I think that’s the plan, pet.”

“I like sweetheart better,” he says. Fenris’ heart flips over. _No, it doesn’t._

Hawke winks at Fenris. “Let Fenris call you what he wants. As long as you don’t hate it.”

“No,” Anders says. “Like being your pet.” Fenris isn’t sure who he’s talking to, and he’s not sure he wants to know. “Want to… want to, in the garden. Your garden.” They get out the door of the Hanged Man and onto the streets of Lowtown.

“Maker, you’re gorgeous like this,” Hawke says. “We can do so many things to make it good for you.”

“It’s good now. Want a cock in my mouth, Hawke,” Anders says, and Fenris hisses at that idea.

“That works out,” Hawke says. “I want Fenris’ cock in your mouth too.”

That sets Anders saying, “Please please please,” and Hawke picks Anders up to carry him piggy-back up the stairs to Hightown. Fenris smiles: he can’t blame him for being in a hurry. Fenris watches both for thugs and for Anders sliding off Hawke’s back.

They get to Fenris’ mansion without incident, and Fenris leads them down an alley, around a turn, and to a deserted garden. Windows from the houses around look down onto it, but there’s a corner behind a hedge where the only windows that can see are from Fenris’ mansion, empty now. Fenris points it out, and Hawke sets Anders down carefully.

“Fuck,” Anders breathes as Hawke arranges them so Anders is the filling in a FenHawke sandwich. “Feel you.” Anders is holding on tight to Hawke behind him, who caresses Anders and Fenris.

“Anders, I want to watch you swallow Fenris’ cock.”

Anders’ knees immediately buckle, but Hawke says, “No. I want to fuck you while you do it.”

“Mmm,” Fenris says. “I’m going to get to watch Hawke’s cock disappear into your ass, pet. Won’t that be nice?” It’s freeing not to have to guard how he says things around Anders. They’ve given themselves a free pass when it involves sex.

“Yes,” Anders breathes. “No consent play. Yes, I want that so fucking bad.”

“You’ll be unable to speak,” Hawke says, reaching under his clothing. “You won’t be much more than our fuck toy.”

Anders writhes between them. “Yes, please, that’s good, I’ll be a good fuck toy,” he says.

“Are we safe to be naked here?” Hawke asks.

“Technically, anyone can walk in the way we did, but few bother, especially this time of night.”

“Tonight, good fuck toys are naked,” Hawke says, and like that Anders strips.

Hawke and Fenris strip down, too, and soon the night air is cool against Fenris’ skin.

“Parade Rest,” Hawke says quietly to Anders, and Anders stands straight with one hand caught behind his back. _They’ve been training._ “Eyes closed and bend straight, now,” he says, holding a hip and pressing Anders’ upper back. “Open wide.” Anders opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out, flat and broad, head tilted up, inviting. “What do you think, Fenris? Will this toy do?”

Fenris takes a half-step forward to put his hardening cock on Anders’ cheek. Anders turns to it, seeking. “It’s very responsive,” he allows.

Hawke hums. “Try it out,” he says, leaning forward to put a hand around the back of Anders’ neck. Anders comes unmoored, going slack. “Let me see you use its mouth,” Hawke says.

Fenris, fully hard, hands Hawke the empty pouch for the anal plug, then slides into Anders’ mouth. He’s too high, so Fenris grabs a fist full of hair to pull him lower. He takes Fenris’ entire cock eagerly, swallows around the head.

“Grease,” Hawke says, “directly on my cock.” A note of the lyrium song buzzes in Fenris’ tattoos, and Anders hums desperately as his lyrium-core anal plug vibrates with the spell. Fenris thrusts into his mouth, and his tongue curls around his length. When Anders settles, Hawke slowly removes the plug. Anders moans vibrations onto Fenris’ cock.

Hawke puts the plug away to be cleaned later, then teases Anders’ hole with his slick cock. Fenris’ grip on Anders’ hair keeps him steady. It does amazing things to Fenris to watch Anders quiver at Hawke’s touch, then watch Hawke’s cock slide into Anders, one inch at a time. Anders’ muffled cries become estatic.

Then they’re rocking and moving together, in and out of Anders. They play with it, sliding Anders back and forth between them or going different paces, but they hit their stride when Hawke sets a pace slapping into Anders, pushing him onto Fenris. Fenris grips Anders’ hair to control the angle, and he’s holding onto Fenris to keep his balance. Hawke reaches over to Fenris’ shoulder to get a better angle, and oh fuck that’s better for everyone thank you Hawke. Anders is a drooling, rumbling mass of nerve endings between them now. He starts sliding down, and Fenris catches a wrist to support him. Somehow, Anders seems more able to push against that to keep himself up than to hold onto Fenris. Anders’ other hand wraps around Fenris’ ass and teases his hole.

Hawke grips Anders’ cock and strokes a few times, as if to see what it feels like. Anders spasms and chokes. Fenris tugs on his hair, thrusts harder into Anders’ mouth. Anders jerks with a desperate cry. Hawke leans a little further on Fenris’ shoulder to get a better angle, and Anders shakes with relief, cumming onto the flagstones beneath them with a low groan, felt far more than heard. Hawke has his eyes shut tight, mouth open but silent for once, head tilted back as he thrusts stuttering into Anders.

Fenris can see it all from here, but he doesn’t cum until Anders falls to his knees and uses tongue and enthusiasm, swallowing when he’s deep. Fenris cums on the third swallow, thrusting deeper. Hawke is still holding onto him, which is how Fenris keeps his feet through the pulses of pleasure. _Pulse_. Whiteout pleasure. _Pulse._ Which way is up. _Pulse._ Hawke’s hand anchoring him. _Pulse. _Anders lips around the tip of his cock. _Pulse._ Anders’ lips around the base of his cock. _Pulse. _Holding Anders tight and breathless against him. _Pulse. _Pulling him off, stumbling, warm glow of pleasure._ Pulse. _One last spurt lands half on Anders’ tongue and over his cheek and chin.

Fenris helps Anders stand, and Hawke turns him to lick his face clean. Fenris kisses Hawke, then Anders, tasting himself on their mouths. Hawke cleans Anders up with a rag that he adds to the bag with the anal plug.

They kiss a few more minutes until Anders says, “Is it getting colder? Also, I’m thirsty.”

Hawke gives Anders water from his waterskin, and they get dressed, Anders’ robe inside out. “Your place or mine?” Hawke says. “Yours is closer.”

“Tempting, but your bed is big enough for three,” Fenris says. He helps arrange Anders on Hawke’s back again. This time he’s not writhing but very sleepy. They get into Hawke’s strangely closed-off estate (what’s with walls?), then up to the soft, warm bedroom to strip again and sleep under the blankets. Fenris isn’t sure which body he’s snuggled against, but it’s warm and close and nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Fenris is so often at Hawke’s estate, but Anders/Justice is busy with his resistance. I imagine there are evenings when Fenris is playing cards with Donnic that Hawke and Anders just hang out, Anders writing and Hawke pestering him to tell him about shapeshifting magic again. Hawke’s trying to work out how Anders can become a dragon, even if Hawke himself can’t. He only wants the best for his men.


End file.
